


Titanium

by Diddle_Riddle



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Chance Meetings, Charlotte Gage-Radcliffe Needs A Hug, Don't forget that Jonathan Crane is a teacher, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Jonathan Crane has a heart, M/M, New year special, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), So he has a soft spot for lost children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diddle_Riddle/pseuds/Diddle_Riddle
Summary: She was not used to be shown kindness. Not in this world, not with the way things are, and even less for street kids.So... she really had no idea how to react to being shown kindness for the New Year, from a main Rogues Gallery member: none other than the self-proclaimed 'God of Fear'.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane & Charlotte Gage-Radcliffe, Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma, Stephanie Brown & Edward Nygma
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Titanium

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! <3  
> 

Charlie's hiccups became uncontrollable, she was on the verge of a panic attack.

Drugs are cured differently than injuries such as blows, cuts, burns, or that one time she collected a bullet wound.

She teleported on a ridiculous distance: less than two meters, then fell on her knees, as weak as a ragdoll, tears rolling down her cheeks. The dreadful images danced in her mind, more vivid than ever.

It felt _real,_ she experienced it deeper than in any of her nightmares. The poison propelled her back inside her younger self's body, when her mother shrug open her bedroom's door at night.

 _The_ night.

That night that changed her life forever, when the building she lived in since her birth burned.

She was six years old, the smell of the thick smoke and the screams from residents in the other apartments traumatized her. But it's what happened _next_ that scarred her for life. Her mother held her, desperately trying to protect her, in a vain attempt at keeping her daughter safe from the flames surrounding them...

Charlotte felt the cool air of the February night against her skin in place of her mother's arms around her. In her pajamas and heavy wool socks, the little girl looked up... to see her building in front of her, _burning._ She yelled, called for help... and hid when the police arrived, alerted by bystanders in the neighborhood.

Mom taught her to be prudent, _no one_ should discover her ability. It happened at barely a couple of occasions, Charlie teleported: not far, and never bringing more than the clothes she wore with her. The times she carried a bag, the item failed to undertake the trip. Once she reappeared without neither her coat nor her shoes.

That night, she _hated her power_ for saving her from the fire. Her mom held her, terrified, shouting at her to "teleport! Please, Charlie, teleport! Save your life!"

She didn't control her power, she had no idea how to succeed, how to... until the magic happened. She indeed saved her life.

But not her mother's.

The only thing aside from her Batgirl-themed nightdress that followed her is... her mother's necklace: the pendant hung from her neck when she held her child, it touched Charlotte's shoulder and benefited of the rescue.

She was in rage, scared, in pain...

However she didn't show up when firefighters then policemen arrived. How could she? They would ask her questions, she... wouldn't be able to justify how she survived.

Looking back at this moment, naturally there _were_ other solutions, far less dangerous, that Charlie could have selected instead of running away as far as she could from her slum in Metropolis.

Be that as it may, she had been a _child_ crushed by a traumatic event who, moreover, had been told not to do or say anything that could hint she possesses a mutation. In order to protect her, her mother made her _promise_ not to ever reveal it.

Charlotte Gage-Radcliffe and her mother count among the seventeen victims of this blaze.

Charlie disappeared. She vanished into the slum, lost, broken, alone and...

She screamed when a hand squeezed her shoulder, bringing her back unto the present. She retreated on the dirty floor, her heart pounding fast in her chest and her breathing laborious.

She looked up, afraid...

The rogue took off his spooky mask. He knelt in front of her, his scythe forgotten behind him in the alley.

"It's alright.", his voice, a strangely _soft voice,_ marked by the ghost of a Southern accent, comforted her. "I won't hurt you."

"You d-d-did ju-just that...", she sniffed, cursing her body for crying again.

"You were not the target aimed. You weren't there when I spread my toxin, you... materialized out of the blue."

"Pink.", she corrected, a sad laugh making its way through her hiccups. "I teleport in _pink."_

Jonathan Crane nodded quietly. He saw the pink cloud surrounding the girl when she teleported in an attempt to escape after being accidentally gassed by fear toxin.

Even if he never harmed children intentionally, this redhead is not his first collateral victim.

She is not the first meta he crosses paths with, either. The girl curled up in a tight ball, her back against the brick wall of the sidelane.

Honestly, Jon wouldn't have minded her if it wasn't for the fact she... cured herself from the toxin impact after her teleportation. As if the action, even if she didn't go far, purged her organism from the inhaled poison. While she remains shaken (she has been exposed for long minutes), he identified the neat difference between her screams when living her worst fears and her tears post-teleportation, there remembering the images as echos, not _living these_ anymore.

This observation is fascinating enough for Jon to... study her.

"My name is Jonathan Crane.", he introduced in his patient teacher intonation. "I am..."

"I know who you are!", she cut, snapping her head up from her previous posture: her forehead put on her raised knees, her thighs pressed against her chest.

Her blue eyes shot daggers, albeit her angry appearance is lessened by the tear tracks shining on her cheeks covered of freckles.

"You're the Scarecrow!", she spat aggressively. "I see you on TV. You are... a monster!"

Jonathan shrugged, unbothered by the designation. Truth be told, he _couldn't care less_ being called names.

Her impulse of bravery dissipated.

"G-g-go ahea-ead.", she sobbed. "I have n-n-nothing left to lo-lo-lose, I should be d-dead for y-y-years. I'm too w-weak to tele-p-port again, just _go ahead._ Kill me."

Jonathan reached out to her.

Charlie didn't know what she expected: a bullet, a knife stab, a needle prick on her neck that would end her miserable existence once and for all.

Overall, she certainly didn't plan for a gentle –can a rogue be gentle? Aren't they... exclusively bad persons?!– hand to tuck a pinky red strand of hair behind her ear. His index finger travelled down her jawline, to then lift her chin up and force her to restore eye contact.

Charlotte's mouth went dry.

"P-Please don't do that...", she begged, her eyes wide in fear.

She always escaped physical assault, a plague for street kids in Gotham. She thought the villain would murder her, not that he would...

When Scarecrow deduced her misinterpretation, he urgently withdrew his hand.

"Oh, sorry."

Charlotte blinked. Did the... man who gassed three guys and herself, who is a main Rogues Gallery member, _apologize_ to her?!

"I struggle at understanding direct contacts and their implications.", he clarified, sheepish. "I was trying to be... nice, I didn't want to scare you. Edward, Harley, Jervis and Stephanie are _so_ tactile, I contracted weird habits with them when it comes to offer comfort."

He paused, eying her over: ripped jeans, old jacket stitched at multiple spots, a hole in her left converse that has once been white but was now so stained it turned grey, no gloves, no beanie, her scarf looks like it could use a stay in a washing machine. Plus the bags under her eyes, her neglected haircut and her... overly _tired_ general expression.

"Are you homeless?"

Charlie moved a bit. Her breakdown passed, she was not dead, she... chatted with a rogue. She felt in the middle of some odd dream that leaves a peculiar aftertaste when waking up in the morning.

"I... why do you care...?"

"It's the 31 of December, you wear dirty, stitched rags, a second-hand backpack that is likely your sole possession, and you _stole_ to eat. That's why you suddenly appeared in this street, right? A piece of bread and two pastries fell on the ground when you were gassed, I guess you teleported right after you snatched these in a bakery or from a kitchen. I'll add that you are an orphan, the way you called your mother when hallucinating indicates she must be your only family, or at least the only person who matters to you. What was it, blaze or explosion? Your reactions were typical of pyrophobia, the fear of fire, cleithrophobia, the fear of being trapped, unable to escape a dangerous place, and, most striking in addition to be rather common amongst subjects: thantophobia, the fear of losing someone you love."

Charlotte was clueless over what to reply, how to... behave upon hearing this clinical analysis of her weaknesses and her... whole life, which the villain perceived in mere minutes of fear toxin-induced visions.

The situation felt... surreal.

"Blaze.", she murmured, the horrific fragments spiralling in her memory. "The building where I lived was a... very old place. The ignition itself was an accident, but if the place observed elementary security rules, if it had working smoke detectors, if the fire escapes hadn't been removed a few months ago because the iron was rusty and the landlord didn't replace them... Those could have changed what happened. My mom was trapped. I... escaped."

"By teleporting? How does it work, it cures you while sending you away?"

She nodded in a shaky movement. She doesn't know much about her ability, just that it's the unique thing that keeps her, if not 'alive', at least _surviving_ post-tragedy. She trained, she learned to control it, step by step. This is a work in progress.

"When did this happen, child?", the rogue asked again, he convened a tenderness that almost made the girl cry again.

She couldn't remember anyone, except from her mother, speaking to her so kindly.

"Over th-three years and a half ago. It w-w-will be four years this February."

"And you are homeless since then?"

"I am _dead_ since then. I have no... no identity papers, my civilian self is reported dead from that night, I... don't exist anymore."

Why was she telling him this?

"Fear toxin tends to make victims talkative once the effects dissipate.", he interpreted accurately her puzzled expression. "Like after a panick attack, most people are keen on sharing their doubts, as a therapy to distract themselves. Where are you from, Gotham?"

"Metropolis. I... moved to Gotham after the accident, as soon as I could. Here is the best place to disappear, and..."

She hesitated. She unveiled so much, she could append another element:

"... it's the city where my hero lives. I thought I... I could meet Batgirl, or... do like her. That the bats would notice me, that... they'd welcome me in their nest. Now I realize how _stupid_ that was: I never met a Batfamily member, I haven't done anything, and I... live in the streets. Alone."

"... I heard this story already. A child running away from his birth town, though for divergent reasons, who reaches Gotham because he was a fan of _Batman_ and longed to meet him. Except he stayed a street kid, having life shattering his dreams one by one, until he managed to become something else. An entirely different person than what he planned, the _opposite_ even, from what he hoped for and envisaged when moving to this town."

Charlie tilted her head to the side, curious.

"Whose backstory is that?"

"The Riddler's."

This girl intrigued Jonathan due to her unprecedented reaction to his products. Now that he found out she shares strong links with Edward? No way he'll leave her there, freezing and starving outside.

"Come with me."

__________

"Happy New Year!"

Edward stood on his tiptoes, he gripped both flaps of Jonathan's shirt to pull him down, and pressed his lips against his.

The professor smiled onto the kiss, he wrapped his arms around the smaller frame, whilst shutting his apartment's door close via a swift, precise movement of his left foot.

"In a good mood, I see.", Jon attested, looking down to his lover with fondness. "How was your New Year Eve?"

"A delight! We admired fireworks, tried every type of shop / restaurant / game stores left and right, and behaved like kids all night long."

"... Is there a _single_ instant Stephanie and you don't behave like kids?"

"Touché!", he chuckled. "What about you: had a good evening at the girls'?"

"I didn't join them, I met a... setback."

Edward arched an eyebrow. Tradition obliges, he spent the afternoon, evening and most of the night with twelve years old Stephanie Brown, his beloved daughter / sister / buddy-girl; before returning her home late at night. They had _so much fun._ During that time, Jon was supposed to have dinner with Pamela, Harley and Jervis at Ivy's current hideout, not to... stay alone.

Jonathan extended a hand to the living room. That's when Edward noticed a... nine / ten years old redheaded, blue-eyed girl who walked toward them, a peaceful smile printed on her lips. She was wearing one of Steph's pajamas, as if she spent the night here.

"Jon said I can stay as long as I want.", the child notified him softly. "That you... won't mind."

At first, a part of her yelled at her brain that she is far too reckless, that she should not, under _any_ circumstances, trust a villain. That his kindness is a trap, that his apparent concern cannot be anything but a trick. 

This being said... it's not like anything waited for her outside.

Charlotte followed the rogue to his residence yesterday. And, to her grandest surprise, she lived her best evening since her mother's death, in a wholesome, friendly atmosphere. Once in 'civilian mode', Jonathan is a great host, and a... comforting company, he effortlessly stepped in the role of a _parent._

The little girl made herself at home the entire evening, then... didn't leave when he organized the guest room for her; a bedroom often squatted by "Stephanie" who, as Scarecrow summarized briefly, "frequently comes and goes when Edward is there".

"See?", Jonathan smiled at the girl and addressed Ed an unambiguous 'I-told-you-I-can' glance. "I adopted a daughter too."

Edward laughed, joyous a variable entered Jonathan and him's routine. Whereas he didn't know what happened, before he asked for explanations he welcomed the child in their circle by... immediately _hugging_ both of them, and, again, behaving like a kid happy to meet a new buddy in the playground. He was even more enthusiastic given the fact this 'new buddy' is a kiddo his boyfriend apparently decided to watch over. Eddie felt so proud of him.

As for Charlie; in the shared home of two main Rogues Gallery members, for the first time in _years_ she couldn't help wonder... may this brave New Year allow her the bliss to believe in miracles again.


End file.
